


Gramander Drabbles

by pastelfeathers



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9591335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelfeathers/pseuds/pastelfeathers
Summary: As the title says, random drabbles from the author who brought you that short drabble about Graves being turned into a fluffy black cat on tumblr.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt by [everythinggramander](https://everythinggramander.tumblr.com/post/155521239436/gramander-head-canons-2).

Not everyone has soulmates, Newt tells himself firmly when he runs out of parchment one day while documenting a particularly intriguing Cockatrice migration route.

Still, he finds himself hesitating once he has his quill in hand, staring at his bare skin with a small frown.

What if he did have a soulmate though?

Did Newt really want his first words to his soulmate to be how Cockatrices tend to migrate along rivers due to their high liquid intake?

Still, Newt is now twenty, and never once has writing appeared on his skin. So if Newt did have a soulmate, they obviously weren’t interested in seeking him out.

Newt’s indecision is resolved when the head of the herd, a fierce Cockatrice that Newt whimsically named Timothy, gave out a shrill cry.

He ends up writing down random notes that day and during the rest of his travels. He never keeps the notes for long, but it was just easier to scribble a quick note on his arm or the back of his hand when he stumbles across a new track in the dirt or discover a new flower species favoured by Nifflers.

If Newt did have a soulmate, they more mostly likely put off by his random creature facts, for never once does anyone respond.

So Newt continues on blithely.

He writes about the common afflictions plaguing wild Mooncalf herds, comments on the type of soil favoured by the Bowtruckles’ home tree, leaves little reminders to himself to discuss the intriguing penchant Nundus have towards Sneezing Daffodils and the Swooping Evil’s hatred of the peppermint plant.

If on particular cold nights, after yet another day out in the wilderness devoid of human contact, Newt wishes idly that he did have a soulmate, someone who would reply and say something, anything, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

-

By the time Newt heads to New York several years later, he’s given up on having a soulmate.

He’s also a bit grumpy from the long boat ride and, having been warned by Theseus about the strictness of import laws in America, rather dreading the upcoming inspection of his many creatures.

So it takes him by surprise when, shortly after his encounter with Miss Goldstein, he learns that most of his creatures will not require a mandatory examination and holding period, due to a recent regulation that was passed at the urging of one Percival Graves.

Newt confesses to having a moment of sheer unadulterated joy and an incomprehensible desire to meet the man upon hearing the news.

But Director Graves is a busy man.

So Newt ends up walking out of the building with heavy steps and a strange sense of loss.

-

Of course, an hour later, Rosie escapes from his briefcase and Newt finds himself desperately trying to track down the errant Nundu. He hurriedly makes his way down the street, trying to locate the closest, and largest rock formation. She seemed to have a strange penchant for them, one that Newt has yet to determine was a commonality amongst all Nundus or if it was a personal quirk unique to Rosie.

He is politely directed to a nearby park, and knows he is on the right track when he begins encountering Muggles with wide eyed looks of fear.

 _Oops,_ Newt thinks with a wince. He quietly obliviates the ones he encounters and hopes that Rosie has been left alone. As he draws closer to the park, he breaks into a run.

The park is surrounded by a sturdy wall of surprising height, so Newt is absolutely unprepared for the scene he stumbles across.

Rosie is indeed by a decently sized outcropping of rocks, seemingly to have been put in as a landscaping feature. Surrounding her on all sides was a gaggle of sternly dressed wizards and witches, all in various states of drawing their wands.

Newt pales.

But before he can say anything, someone apparates in front of the group, directly between Rosie and the others.

The newcomer takes a brief second to assess the situation then, much to Newt's surprise, holds up a hand to the group behind him. The response is immediate, the tension bleeds out of the circle and wands are slowly lowered.

Newt gapes.

As he watches on with wide eyes, the newcomer slowly moves forward towards Rosie.

Rosie growls in response.

The newcomer comes to a slow gradual stop, several feet away from the suspicious Nundu. Just as slowly, the man reaches into his robes and pulls out something with his right hand, but Newt is too far away to see what it is.

Newt tenses and begins strolling forward determinedly again, concerned that the newcomer had drawn a wand.

But to his continued surprise, Rosie suddenly perks up.

As Newt watches, the Nundu slowly creeps forward, pausing every step or so to scent the air.

Eventually she stops in front of the man, close enough to touch, and makes a huffing purr.

Right before she rolls onto her back.

Newt watches on in baffled delight as the newcomer reaches forward and lightly places a hand on her stomach before trailing his hand upward to lightly scratch the spot right behind her right foreleg, her secret weakness.

Newt stutters to a stop, nearly tripping his own feet in astonishment.

No one knew about the Nundus’ odd love for being scratched behind their forelegs.

 _Who is this man?_ Newt thinks to himself. He is a bit worried to realize that his heart is pounding loudly in his chest.

The stranger turns and spots Newt and arches one elegant eyebrow. Closer, Newt can see that the man is devastatingly handsome, with a serious face and dark but kind eyes.

Newt doesn’t even blame Rosie for turning into purring mess, his knees are feeling a bit weak themselves.

“I suppose you’re Mister Scamander?”

"I, yes, oh, hello,” Newt manages to get out, awkwardly ducking his head and scolding himself for that garbled mess of a reply.

He peers up at the man’s tie, which is about as far as he is able to look without breaking into a blush. “Thank you for calming Rosie down.”

The stranger doesn’t respond for a moment. “My pleasure,” the other man says quietly, “perhaps, we can continue this discussion once Rosie is safely back in your briefcase?’

Newt moves his gaze to Rosie, who has switched to a sitting position and was now purring contently beneath the man’s talented scratching. As Newt watches, the Nundu pushes its face against the man and rubs against him, effectively scenting the stranger.

Newt flushes, “that may be best.”

-

The man’s name is Percival Graves.

The same Percival Graves who pushed through the new regulations regarding the import and export of magical creatures, specifically eliminating or shortening the mandatory holding and examination period for many of the misunderstood creatures Newt has encountered during his travels.

Like the Nundu.

Upon the Director’s insistence, Newt had returned to the Woolworth building with the Aurors and is now sitting uncertainly in the other man’s office. Newt fidgets awkwardly with his fingers and casts a quick look at Mister Graves.

He freezes when he realizes the man is watching him with a small smile.

“Oh,” Newt says, heart thumping, then he blurts out, “would you like to see my creatures?” He kicks himself mentally, what sane wizard would willingly go into a suspicious briefcase filled with-

“I would love to Mister Scamander, thank you."

With warmth rising up in his cheeks and in his stomach, Newt murmurs back, “you’re very welcome Mister Graves.”

“Please, call me Percival.”

“Newt.” He smiles at Percival, braving an actual look at the man’s face.

It really was a very handsome face.

 _Oh dear,_ Newt thinks.

-

Judging by her continued insistence to stick by Percival’s side like a particularly stubborn burr, Rosie may be a bit in love with the man.

Not that Newt can judge, he thinks he might be a bit in love himself.

Unlike some of the other visitors to his briefcase throughout the years, Percival remains calm and gentle. He slowly strokes the Mooncalves until they’re clamouring around him for more pats, much to Rosie’s distaste. He shakes Dougal’s hand and chuckles when the Demiguise turns invisible because of Rosie’s growls.

Percival doesn’t even bat an eye when Newt introduces him to the resident Erumpent, or catches a glimpse of the Swooping Evil. Instead, he lowers himself into a crouch and waits for the Erumpent to approach him and holds out his hand so the Swooping Evil can land in his palm.

It doesn’t help that every time Percival succeeds in his interactions with one of the creatures, he gives Newt a delighted grin that makes Newt’s heart thump loudly against his chest.

“You have quite a way with these creatures,” says Newt, eyeing the Occamies that have slithered their way up to Percival’s shoulders and are now bickering with each other whilst trying to rub against the man’s cheeks.

Percival gives him another one of those devastatingly gorgeous grin, “I have a good teacher.”

“Oh,” Newt replies with a slight smile, “they’re lucky to have you as a student. You have obviously paid careful attention to their instructions.”

Percival gives him an inscrutable look. “No,” the man says carefully, “I think it is I who is lucky.”

There is something wistful and slightly sad in the man’s voice, and Newt realizes with a sinking heart that he recognizes that tone. That’s the sound of someone experiencing unrequited love.

 _Foolish,_ Newt thinks to himself, startled by the vehemence of his own disappointment, _of course Percival has someone. It’s silly to imagine someone as attractive and kind as Percival would be alone all this time. It’s only a matter of time before this teacher realizes how lucky they are to have Percival’s affections and they’ll live happily ever after._

He forces himself to smile, even if he can’t quite meet the other man’s eyes right now, “I do hope that everything works out.”

Percival is still watching him, strangely now, as if he doesn’t quite understand Newt’s sudden reluctance.

But Newt doesn’t want to dwell on his own wishful thinking, even if Percival was one of the few people who’s ever treated the creatures with even a modicum of kindness upon first sight, and has obviously magical fingers, and a sweet smile, and maybe Newt really would like to get to know the man a bit better, but-

But he’s just Newt.

And Newt has no idea what he can offer to a man like Percival Graves, with a upstanding bloodline, promising career, and probably an incomprehensibly attractive teacher.

Dougal makes a sad soft sound beside them and grasps onto Newt’s hand.

Percival looks down at Dougal.

“Newt?”

Newt forces himself to smile again, and gently squeezes Dougal’s hand. “Let us visit Frank, shall we?” He doesn’t meet Percival’s eyes and begins walking towards the Thunderbird's habitat.

After a beat, Percival’s footsteps follow behind.

-

Percival remains quiet until they reach the Thunderbird’s habitat, at which point he goes still. “Oh,” he says in a hushed voice, “he’s beautiful.”

Newt smiles at that, more genuine than his last attempts. “Oh yes,” he agrees readily, “Frank really is one of a kind. Someone was cruel enough to trap him in a metal cage before I was able to rescue him.”

Frank peers at the two of them from his perch but makes no inclination to move.

Percival frowns, “where was this?”

Newt frowns at the air, recalling the circumstances that led him to the Thunderbird. “In Cairo, the group was using him to create steady rainfall for the crops.” Newt smiles charmingly at Frank, hoping the other would come down. Of all the visitors, Newt thinks that Percival of all people deserved to observe the Thunderbird’s majesty up close.

“What is he?”

“Frank is a Thunderbird.”

“Can you spell it for me?” Percival asks, sounding...quite suspicious actually, like he was trying too hard to be casual.

Newt turns and gives Percival’s chin a puzzled frown. “It’s just an amalgamation of thunder and bird?”

Percival coughs, the tips of his ears going a bit red. “I really must insist.”

Baffled but unwilling to reject a simple request, Newt conjures up a quill and some parchment.

“I would prefer it if you could write it on my hand actually.” Percival says, in the same too casual to be genuine tone, whilst holding out his left hand.

Newt stops in the middle of putting his inked quill to paper and turns wide eyes to Percival. “Oh,” he says, “are you very certain? Only, I wouldn’t want your soulmate to wonder why-”

“My teacher won’t mind.”

 _Oh,_ thinks Newt, _of course, Percival wants to share this experience with his lovely teacher._

But something starts to niggle at the back of his mind, something about Percival’s actions and words isn’t sitting right with him, why-

Newt writes the T on Percival’s hand.

He freezes when he feels a phantom inkling of something on his own hand. Carefully, shakily, he turns his left hand and stares at the T that had appeared on his hand.

“Oh.”

“Yes,” says Percival, sounding extremely uncertain.

Newt looks up slowly and bites back a gasp when he sees the hopeful look on Percival’s face. _Oh,_ he thinks to himself dizzily, _Percival’s teacher is me._

“Newt?” Percival’s hopeful look is beginning to turn into worry.

Overwhelmed by the turn of events, Newt blinks at him and tries to formulate the words necessary to respond. He thinks of the Graves Amendment, of the way Percival has treated the creatures and the fact that Percival had obviously paid attention to his silly scribbles throughout these years.

“I was right,” he eventually says, face turning a soft pink under Percival’s continued gaze, “your teacher is very lucky to have you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

_(Percival is initially annoyed by the random facts on his arms, but he realizes how useful the information is the first time he manages to deter a startled Swooping Evil with a mere peppermint leaf. Somewhere along the way, he begins looking forward to these random scribbles, and finds himself unable to reciprocate, because his soulmate is obviously living an interesting life, full of journey and adventure, whereas Percival is just an Auror._

_He can’t very well counter fun facts about Bowtruckles with case facts about the Maple Street Murders._

_Then he gets the promotion to Director and he’s busier than ever, never too busy to not read the random facts that ink across his skin of course, but busy enough that he thinks it might be best if he doesn’t meet his soulmate._

_But Percival genuinely **likes** his soulmate._

_Which is baffling._

_Because they’ve never spoken or met._

_But Percival knows his soulmate is kind and brave. He knows his soulmate has served in the war and single-handedly broken down several smuggling rings. He knows his soulmate has traveled around the world and met creatures from sphinxes in Giza to mermaids in Ibiza._

_He knows that his soulmate has never once expressed a desire to find Percival or to settle down._

_And Percival doesn’t know what he can offer his soulmate, who seems content to travel and charm creatures left and right._

_But he wants to do something, anything._

_So he goes out of his way and pushes through the Graves Amendment to the Animal Welfare Act, correcting some of the more stringent laws and relaxing some of the regulations for creatures his soulmate has written to him about._

_Just in case._

_And when Miss Goldstein drops by and tells him that a lovely British gentleman had landed with a briefcase of creatures that exactly match the ones Percival has been reading about on his arms, Percival’s heart maybe stutters in his chest with sudden hope, but by the time he gets to the foyer, the man is gone._

_He tells himself that he’s not disappointed._

_But he still drops everything when he hears that some of his Aurors had tracked a loose Nundu to the park on Hill Avenue._

_Because maybe._

_Just maybe,_ _he does want a chance to court his soulmate after all._ _)_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm anarielle on Tumblr if you want to send me a prompt. :)


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